A Vampire in the Opera
by Silver Dragon Iron Claws
Summary: One woman. Three men. One desperately needs her. One truly loves and cherishes her. One wants to make her his eternal bride. PotO/Dracula crossover. Full summary inside.
1. Arrival

_A Vampire in the Opera_

Complete Summary:

One woman and three men: one who desperately needs her, one who truly loves and cherishes her, and one who wants to make her his eternal bride.

Count Dracula escapes London and flees to Paris, searching for someone new to fill the void in his life. Being the man of high society that he is, Dracula attends the _Opera Populaire'_s opening performance of _Hannibal_. There he sees Christine Daae. The Prince of Darkness becomes enthralled by her voice, never before had he heard a voice that could captivate him so. He sets out to make Christine his and his alone, but the Count soon discovers that Christine is already under the spell of another…

**A/N: Welcome to my first Phanfiction! Please feel free to tell me what you think by way of reviews! This is a retelling of the movie/ musical with a crossover element: Dracula! I am using the classical Dracula and his original story, with some things taken from the old Bela Lugosi movie. Feel free to envision Dracula as Gerry though, I know I will! Having two Gerrys in one story can't be all bad, can it? Anyway, there may be Kay references along the way as well as elements from the original Leroux novel. Also, the characters' appearances and the settings will be based on the movie, just so you know. Ok, I've babbled enough. It's time for the curtain to rise!**

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Dracula_. I wish I did, but alas…

Ch.1: Arrival

_Ahhhh, night!_

Dracula awoke from his daily slumber right as the sun set; it was like clockwork for him. The rich, loamy scent of his native Transylvanian earth stirred around him as he opened the lid of the box. The Prince of Darkness paused before climbing out, savoring the smell as he would a fine wine or fresh blood. Finally acquiescing to the fact that he must get up, Dracula stepped out of his bed and onto the floor of his new home. His servant had done well. The tomb was large enough to house his soil filled coffin and few possessions, but not too large to attract suspicion. He had learned his lesson in London; seldom did Count Dracula make a mistake twice.

Dracula dressed quickly into his evening suit, frowning at the wear and tear his clothes had received during his flight from London. _I will have to see to some new suits soon_, he thought, fingering a small hole in the coat sleeve, _Perhaps my servant knows a tailor of good repute. I will look to that later, though. The night is young, and I have not had a proper meal in days!_

Donning his hat and cape, Dracula unlocked the heavy iron door and stepped out into his first Parisian night.

* * *

The predawn glow was alight in the east when Dracula returned to his home, a dim orange glow touching the tallest of monuments in the graveyard. Upon reaching his tomb, a short, wiry man appeared from the shadows and knelt at Dracula's feet. "My master bids, and I come," he said humbly in a slightly rasping voice.

Dracula looked down at the small man bowing before him. _This one is much better than that sniveling Renfield I dispatched in London, _he thought. _Jacques knows the proper respect!_

At a sign from his master, Jacques stood, his short stature emphasized by Dracula's height. "You have done well, my servant," said the vampire, his voice pitched to the tone which enslaved the simple man's mind. "This is the perfect spot for my resting place."

"Thank you, master."

Dracula nodded in return. He seldom gave compliments; it was smart of the man to acknowledge that fact. Reaching inside his coat, Dracula retrieved an envelope and held it out to Jacques. The man took it quickly and pocketed it without question. "I have some errands for you today," said Dracula. "The instructions and money are inside that envelope; use as much as you need."

"Yes master."

"Go now, the dawn is nearly upon me. Report back to me tonight."

Jacques bowed away, rasping, "As you wish, master" as he left.

The Prince of Darkness surrendered to the day at last, locking himself away inside the tomb. He moved mechanically through his routine, undressing and storing his clothes carefully before opening the soil filled coffin, but he was actually suppressing an eager excitement. His first night out had proved promising. As he lay inside the dark security of the coffin, Dracula recounted the night's events with relish.

* * *

Paris was certainly not London! Here people walked the streets late into the night, poor were crammed into untidy slums, and prostitutes seemed to call from every corner. _A vampire will never starve here!_

But Dracula did not enjoy hunting the poor and desperate; there was no challenge at all. The street women practically threw themselves in Dracula's path, so eager were they to please him. Starving as he was, Dracula did accept one of their offers, but it was hardly satisfying. Killing a woman who was willing to take him to bed was far too easy. No, Dracula preferred a proper hunt, a prey that was much more difficult to catch. With this in mind, Dracula turned his path to the heart of the city, the place where the wealthy gathered.

What a sight it was! Picturesque monuments lined the stately roads, and flocks of well dressed men and women fluttered here and there in carriages and handsome cabs, most seemed to be going in one direction. Curious, Dracula followed on foot. He knew the upper crust in any society thoroughly enjoyed gathering for certain events to bolster their social standing. He, himself, had done so many times in London, attending the opera and calling on certain individuals. Of course, Dracula's intentions had been much different, but the principle was the same.

Dracula saw the carriages' destination long before he ever reached it. The opera house was more massive than anything he had ever seen, even bigger than his castle back in Transylvania. _Yes, it has to be an opera house; nothing else draws so many of these preening and fawning fools in a big city_, Dracula thought. _It does not even look like there is a show tonight!_

It was true. There was no performance that night. The well-to-do were simply using the area as a meeting place before heading off somewhere else. Dracula was not concerned with this though. He was imagining the number of people who would attend a performance, the number of worthy prey. This place would be an ideal hunting ground, but first Dracula had to know its name!

Striding purposefully across the final street that separated him from the opera house, Dracula approached a young man who appeared to be waiting for someone. "Excuse me monsieur," said the Count in flawless, though heavily accented, French, "what do you call this magnificent building?"

The young man gave Dracula a look somewhere between surprise and confusion and replied, "The _Opera Populaire_, or simply the Opera; it is the largest in the city."

"Merci," was Dracula's only response. He tipped his hat to the young Parisian and left, mulling over his plans for this city. Opera Populaire _is it? This place will do very nicely. I must have Jacques purchase a season ticket for me. _

Dracula passed a billboard advertising the gala performance of _Hannibal_; it was taking place the very next night. _Tomorrow then, _Opera Populaire_, tomorrow I shall see just what you have to offer.

* * *

_

Surrounded by Transylvanian earth, sated and content, Dracula finally slipped into sleep. The last thought he had brought a thin smile to his pale lips. _Perhaps I shall find a woman worthy to be my bride…_

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Have a comment or suggestion? Please leave a review! I would love to know what you think!**


	2. Voice of an Angel

**A/N: Yay! I'm back! I'm so excited this story is getting responses; I think this is the most reviews I have ever gotten for a first chapter!** **Thank you so much reviewers! Reviews just help fuel the writing engine! As for review questions, it's too early to say. You'll just have to wait and see!**

Ch. 2: Voice of an Angel

_Marvelous! Simply marvelous!_

If Dracula had thought the outside had been impressive, the inside of the _Opera Populaire_ was to die for. The large rooms, vaulted ceilings, and plentiful lamps made the Count feel as if he was outside in broad daylight, something he had not experienced in years. The rooms and hallways were lavishly decorated, colorful frescoes covered many of the walls, classical statues filled every niche and corner, and, to Dracula's annoyance, mirrors were everywhere. Though there were many people milling about, the threat was still very real. It would take a very simple fool to miss Dracula's lack of a reflection. _Damn these humans and their vanity_, grumbled the vampire to himself.

There were still thirty minutes before the curtain call, plenty of time to survey the herd. Dracula climbed the _grand escalier_, nodding pleasantly to those who looked his way, many of whom where women. Dracula smiled inwardly as he installed himself against a mirror free section of wall. Women were always attracted to him, like moths to a flame. _Must be my animal magnetism_, he thought with a soft chuckle.

Most people ignored the pale-faced man with the piercing eyes; they just went about their business oblivious to the danger that stood in well-dressed silence against the wall. Dracula was perfectly happy with this; the less people bothered him the easier it was to hunt. As he looked over the swarms of opera goers, the Count knew he would fit into this new society quite easily. _These Parisians are desperately predictable! _Dracula thought, watching the endless parade of colorful dresses and pressed suits. _They care only for their appearance and social standing, bowing and scraping to further inflate their egos, to be a "gentlemen." I could kill any of these fops right now, and his last thought would probably be "Oh God, I hope blood doesn't stain!"_

It was not long before the time until the performance started dwindled to a mere ten minutes. Looking at his pocket watch, Dracula retrieved his ticket and headed towards the grand theater. As much fun as it was watching these strutting peacocks, the opera was promising to be much more entertaining. The celebrated La Carlotta was the diva of the _Opera Populaire_; Dracula was eager to hear her sing. Often he had heard her spoken of in the English theaters, the Spanish soprano who held all of Paris by the heart and ears. Dracula had seen her likeness on the billboards outside the opera. She was not displeasing to the eye, but the Count thought she seemed proud and vain. It was her smile, an exaggerated smile full of teeth, a practiced grimace designed to please the public and promote her beauty. These tactics did not fool the vampire, though. He knew she must be incredibly arrogant and needy, as was expected from divas. Dracula sincerely hoped her voice made up for her apparent faults.

Upon reaching the doors to the grand theater, Dracula showed his ticket to the door man and was directed to his seat. It was on the main floor in the center, almost directly under the massive crystal chandelier. The Count took his seat and surveyed the view. It was excellent; he had a clear view of the entire stage. _Jacques has done it again, this seat is just perfect._

Indeed it was. Unlike many of the nobles of his station, Count Dracula chose not to take a seat on the grand tier. He was being much more careful here in Paris, striving to be as inconspicuous as possible. He had been far too reckless in London; he had fallen into too many of the simple traps and tricks devised by Professor Abraham van Helsing. It had nearly cost Dracula his life, or at least his existence, for how could an undead die?

Dracula grimaced at the memory. He could still feel where van Helsing's stake had struck and miraculously missed nearly six months previous. Dracula shoved the pain from his consciousness as the lights dimmed in the enormous theater. The murmur of the audience fluttered out as two men dressed in fine evening wear ascended the stairs to the stage and stood before the curtain. When the last of the whisperers was hushed, the taller of the two men stepped forward and addressed the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the _Opera Populaire's _gala performance of Chalumeau's 'Hannibal'!"

The audience applauded enthusiastically at his remark, silencing as the man raised his arms. "Monsieur Andre," the man motioned to his colleague, who gave a little wave, "and myself, Monsieur Firmin, the new owners of this prestigious theater, thank each and every one of you for joining us this evening, especially our patron, the Vicomte de Chagny."

Once again, the audience applauded. Dracula, who was quickly tiring of these proceedings, clapped politely and gave a cursory glance at the box pointed out by Firmin. In it, a young man with a soft, almost boyish face framed by long blonde hair stood and bowed slightly to Andre and Firmin, who bowed in return. The Count sighed, thinking _These_ _nobles are all the same!_

When the audience had settled again, Monsieur Andre replaced Firmin and faced the guests. "Ladies and gentlemen, before we start the show, I have a cast correction to announce."

This caught Dracula's attention. _Hmm, I wonder which of these poor children has taken sick with stage fright!_ he thought.

"I regretfully announce," continued Andre, "that our diva, La Carlotta, is unable to perform this evening. In her place, Christine Daae will be singing the part of Elissa."

As if on cue, soft whispering and grumbling broke out among the opera goers. Dracula snorted in displeasure. He had been looking forward to hearing the famous diva, but now it seems he would have to wait. The two managers were a little more nervous now; they seemed ready to bolt from the stage. To save himself and his partner from further angry stares and scowls, Firmin said haltingly, "Th-thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen, and now the _Opera Populaire _proudly presents 'Hannibal'."

There was applause as the two men retreated hurriedly and the orchestra began the overture, though it was noticeably less enthusiastic. Dracula settled back into the upholstered cushions of his seat, quite determined to enjoy himself, with La Carlotta or without.

_

* * *

We never said our love was evergreen,_

_Or as unchanging as the sea-_

_But please promise me,_

_That sometimes,_

_You will think_

_Of me!_

As the audience broke into thunderous applause, the vampire sat rooted to his chair, all feeling gone from his body. All he could feel was the frantic beating of his not-so-stone heart. Never before in his life had Dracula heard such haunting beauty issue from a mortal's lips. Christine's voice had reached out from the stage, taken hold of his heartstrings, and refused to let go. It had lifted the vampire's soul to the heavens, caressing his mind like warm summer air. Yet through all the warmth and hope of the words Christine had sung, Dracula could sense an inner darkness and pain within this young woman's spirit. This, more than anything else, had pierced the Count's iron-clad defenses and touched him in a way he no longer thought possible. This woman with the voice of an angel who had fallen to earth had done the unthinkable: she had awakened the vampire's long sleeping emotions.

When Dracula finally roused himself enough to leave the theater, he found he could think of little else besides the beautiful young soprano. Try as he might, the Prince of Darkness could not expel her voice and face from his mind. Suddenly he realized he could not bear to forget. He could not bear the thought of this feeling disappearing forever. _This cannot be_, Dracula thought with revelation, _I am in love!_

With a sudden laughter, Count Dracula turned his steps towards backstage.


	3. The Angel's Keeper

**A/N: Wow, sorry this took a while. It's amazing how busy one can get over spring break. To make up for the lateness, here is a nice long chapter. I'm introducing more _Dracula_ characters in this one, so enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, _The_ _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Dracula_ aren't mine. They are public domain though.**

Ch. 3: The Angel's Keeper

"Mina! Mina! Please wake up! Mina!"

Jonathan Harker gently shook his wife, trying desperately to bring her out of her dreamlike trance. They were becoming more and more frequent, though this one had to be the worst one yet. Mina's eyes were so tightly squeezed shut that tears were forming at the corners and her lips were turning white. She appeared to the entire world to be in intense pain, and Jonathan was powerless to stop it.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Jonathan, Mina relaxed into true sleep, going as limp as a rag doll in her husband's arms. Jonathan held her to his chest, pillowing her head in the crook of his arm. "Oh Mina," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "We'll stop this soon. I promise."

Content that his wife was as comfortable as was possible on a wooden bench, Jonathan gazed across the Channel, his view bobbing slightly with the movement of the ferry. It was a beautiful late summer afternoon; the White Cliffs of Dover could still be seen on the retreating horizon reflecting the sun. Jonathan looked back on them longingly, wishing he was home in London. He could imagine their cozy row house snug between its neighbors, windows open to let in the cool morning air. He could see his chair by the fireplace inviting him to sit and rest at the end of the day. How many times had he sat in that chair with a cigar and the evening paper reading whilst Mina sat across from him preparing lessons for her students?

_Not nearly enough_, he thought.

Jonathan glanced down at Mina. She was still completely relaxed in his arms; if not for her steady breathing she would have looked dead. Her color was returning, though very slowly. A righteous anger flared up in Jonathan's soul against the evil that tormented his wife's mind and shattered their fragile peace. _Damn you Dracula! I'll see you burn in hell for what you've put my Mina through._

Jonathan's passion caused him to grip his wife tighter still, wishing he could squeeze the demons that plagued her out through the power of his love alone. Jonathan held her like this unconsciously as he brooded over the reason for their voyage across the English Channel. Everything had started a little over six months ago when a mysterious ailment befell Lucy Westerner, the then Mina Murray's best friend. All kinds of doctors and specialist were called in to cure the poor young woman. All any of them could figure is that she seemed to be losing blood, but there were no wounds on her except for two small marks on her neck. Every single cure and treatment imaginable was tried, even a blood transfusion, but to no avail. Miss Westerner continued to decline. Eventually a prominent Dutch professor by the name of Abraham Van Helsing was called in, but what he proposed defied all scientific thinking! The cause of Lucy's illness, according to Van Helsing, was not a disease, but the work of demon creature found only in fairytales and folklore: a vampire.

Naturally Jonathan was skeptical; the idea was absurd! The very thought of a creature who lived for centuries feeding on the blood of others was difficult to fathom, not to mention repulsive. It was only after Lucy Westerner died and the sightings of the ghostly woman in white began did Jonathan begin to doubt the laws of science.

Then Mina took ill.

Van Helsing diagnosed her as another victim of the vampire, bringing in all kinds of strange folk remedies for Mina's defense. Wreathes of garlic, crucifixes, holy water, Mina was being smothered! Jonathan tried to convince Van Helsing that Mina needed proper medicine, not these back water treatments, but the professor would not be swayed. In fact, he promised to prove the existence of the vampire, for he was beginning to suspect who he was: Count Dracula, a newcomer to the London upper crust. He was a Transylvanian noble who had taken up residence in the old Carfax Abbey and had been seen wooing Lucy Westerner on occasion. Dracula had even visited her during her illness; it was then he had met Mina. Van Helsing saw this as an important connection; Jonathan thought it was only coincidence. Then the Count gave Mina a visit one night. Jonathan saw with his own eyes that the man had no reflection in a looking glass, how violently he reacted to seeing the mirror. Now Jonathan Harker was ready to listen to Van Helsing's words. When Mina mysteriously vanished one night, he was ready and willing to aid in her rescue. Van Helsing and Harker followed the bumbling Renfield, a man Van Helsing believed to be Dracua's pawn, to Carfax Abbey. There they struggled to break into Dracula's inner lair, succeeding just as the sun rose. Inside they found Mina unharmed and Dracula asleep in his coffin. Jonathan had watched as Van Helsing plunged a wooden stake into the vampire's chest. His death meant Mina's freedom and the end of the horrible nightmare.

But it didn't end. A mere two months after their marriage her symptoms returned. The weakness and strange trancelike dreams reared their ugly head once again, leaving Jonathan helpless to aid his wife. What more could he do; the creature had already been slain, hadn't it? In desperation, Jonathan did the only thing he could do: contact Van Helsing.

The professor's return correspondence had been brief and hastily written:

I fear the worst. Go to Paris as soon as you can, I will join you there. Attend performances at the _Opera Populaire_; I will find you. Be always on guard and pray the creature does not still walk this earth. –AVH

The Harkers had left London as soon as possible, making haste to Dover by train. There they chartered two seats on a ferry across the Channel to Calais. Jonathan had a terrible premonition as he and Mina boarded the little coastal schooner, he felt as if he was leaving his homeland forever, never to return.

Exhausted from travel, Mina had fallen asleep almost as soon as she sat down next to Jonathan on a bench on the deck of the ferry. It had not been long until her rest was interrupted by a vision dream, plunging her into restless nightmare. At least now it had passed, and Mina could sleep. Jonathan wondered what strange wonders the dreams had shown his wife this time.

Suddenly Jonathan was struck from his reverie by a movement in his arms. Looking down, he saw his wife's beautiful brown eyes open and meet his. Mina smiled, but Jonathan could read the weariness in her face. "Go back to sleep, love," he said quietly, "you need it."

Mina sighed, lay still for a moment, and then sat up, retrieving a small notebook and pencil from her bag. "I really must record this last vision first," she said, opening up the book to the last entry and scribbling away. Jonathan smiled at his wife's diligence; she always put their cause before her own needs. Mina was certain the visions would help in the location and defeat of the vampire. Jonathan wasn't so sure; so far the visions had yielded little more than broken blurry images. _If Mina thinks they're important, than I guess they are_, Jonathan thought.

It was not long before Mina finished logging the dream and returned her pad and pencil to their places. She sat back against the wooden bench, sighed again, and leaned her head against Jonathan's shoulder. "Did you see anything clearly this time?" asked Jonathan, turning his head so he could look at Mina.

Mina looked out across the dark waters of the Channel, her eyes focused inward. "Yes, I think so. I could make out faces sometimes, no one I could recognize though. The surroundings are still pretty choppy, but I could see a lot of lights and colors."

"Do you have any idea where he is?"

"I'm not sure. I've never been to France. I wouldn't know if I was seeing it or not."

"Well, we'll know soon enough."

Mina looked up at Jonathan and smiled her haunted smile. That smile always struck Jonathan to the core, and he was forced to smile back. "Please get some rest Mina," he said at last, "we still have a long journey ahead of us."

Finally acquiescing to her husband, Mina nodded and closed her eyes, nestling her head against the folds of Jonathan's coat. Barely five minutes passed before Mina's breathing slowed and evened as she slipped into sleep. Jonathan watched her for several minutes, praying that this time her rest would be dreamless. Eventually he turned his gaze to the approaching French coastline. _We're coming for you Count Dracula. You cannot hide forever. _

* * *

"Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind. This is one visit I should prefer to make unaccompanied." 

Dracula watched as the young Vicomte entered Christine's dressing room with his bouquet of flowers and bottle of champagne, still shocked at the strange emotions that stirred within him. How could a creature such as him, devoid of all feelings except hunger, anger, and lust, react this way to the presence of a woman? It was not as if he had been deprived of the female form for long; on the contrary, Dracula had had many women over the years, a few of whom he had deemed worthy to become vampires themselves, to become his brides. None of his choices in brides had been based on love. No, all of them had been picked for their beauty, for their pure physical attractiveness, for the animal lust they awoke in their sire and mate.

Dracula thought he had long ago shed his human frailties, such as love and morals, when he sold his soul for power and immortality. As a vampire he had embraced an existence of instinct and logic, free of man's frivolous emotions. Dracula thought he would never concern himself with love again. He was wrong. Christine's voice had unlocked some secret vault within the Count's psyche, unleashing feelings long forgotten. Those emotions had crashed through Dracula like a tidal wave, leaving him completely senseless, lost in the beauty of the voice. Never before had he felt as alive as when Christine sang. It was as if her angel's voice stole his cursed soul back from hell and let him be human again, but only fleetingly. Even now the feelings of joy and life were quickly dissipating, leaving only despair. Dracula now realized how much he had missed his human life; how he longed to feel alive again. Christine was the key, her haunted voice and shadowed soul matched Dracula's perfectly. No other woman before deserved to be his bride more than Christine. _I will free you from your pain, Christine. No longer will you sing for these undeserving mortals who come and go as quickly as winter into spring. Yours will be an undying voice, subject only to me. You will be mine and mine alone; no mortal can stand in my way!_

Even as Dracula schemed in a dark alcove across from the door to Christine's dressing room, the Vicomte de Chagny was inside, trying to convince the young singer to have supper with him. Dracula was not concerned by this; his power could easily circumvent any young lovers' infatuation. He could hear them prattle on behind the closed door, his sensitive hearing allowing him to relish in every one of Christine's words. Dracula was intrigued by Christine's reference to an angel of music; she spoke as if it were a real person. He could not fathom that heavenly voice having an earthly origin. _Her teacher must truly be an angel._

At length, the Vicomte exited the dressing room in a hurry, eager and excited about his prospective date with Christine. The Count approached her door, puzzling over Christine's reluctance with the young suitor. _The easier for me_, he thought in delight.

Dracula was about to knock when a booming voice resounded from within, freezing him on the spot. So beautiful it was, flowing and pulsating with power, Dracula knew who this voice belonged to: Christine's angel of music. The vampire marveled at the control exercised by the voice, it was pitched to the perfect tone which would command Christine's obedience, evidenced by the singer's responses; Christine was completely entranced. _This man can control through the voice as I can! He could prove to be quite an annoyance, for a human. I must discover the identity of my rival._

Glancing up and down the hall to ensure his privacy, Dracula rendered himself into mist, slipping under the door. His timing could not have been more perfect, for as soon as he fully entered the room, the fool suitor returned. Dracula ignored the Vicomte's questioning cries, focused on the sight unfolding before him. Christine was standing before a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror through which could be seen the shape of a man, his black clothes blending into the darkness around him. The only part of him that was truly discernable from the blackness was a white mask shielding half his face from view. This amused the Count; what would cause a man of such talents to wear a mask, not to mention the theatrics?

Further surprises awaited Dracula. Just when it seemed the Vicomte was going to break down the door, the mirror slid open, revealing the masked man completely. His flowing cloak stirred as he held a hand out to Christine and intoned, "I am your angel of music… Come to me, angel of music..."

Completely entranced, Christine obeyed, taking his gloved hand and disappearing into the dark corridor beyond. Dracula had to act fast, for the mirror began to close immediately. Skimming the floor, he was just able to slide his gossamer form through a crack as the mirror shut. As the confused de Chagny burst into the room, Dracula allowed himself to resume a human shape. He watched the young man's plight through the one-way glass, laughing at his distress. The Vicomte quickly left, allowing the Count to turn his attention to more pressing matters. The masked man's enchanting voice mingled with Christine's as it echoed down the dank hallways, acting as a beacon for the vampire to follow. Dracula tailed them with quick silent steps, staying just out of sight. They spiraled down and down into the cellars; it was as if they were travelling to hell. _Not a fitting place for an angel_, thought the vampire, _but it suits me just fine!_

Eventually the masked man led Christine to the edge of an immense underground lake. Dracula watched as the two moved off across its glassy surface in a gondola, still singing to each other in ecstasy. This irked Dracula. It appeared that this strange man had an immense influence on the girl, more than a simple teacher-student relationship. _What does he want her for?_, he wondered.

Determined to find out, Dracula assumed the form of a vampire bat and followed in the air, hugging the cavern's ceiling. It was not difficult to locate the boat amid the channels of the lake, and soon Dracula found himself entering a large hidden chamber secluded on the opposite shore. It was oddly beautiful, flickering candles illuminating a massive pipe organ and numerous shrouded mirrors, dark openings in the walls giving testament to further rooms and passageways. Dracula concealed himself among the stalactites on the roof of the cave, watching as the masked man docked his craft and led Christine to shore of his home. Then he began to sing. Listening with rapt attention, the Count soaked up the words, feeling the singer's every pain and longing as if it were his own. Realization slowly dawned on the vampire; this man, this musical genius who shunned the world, was the same as he: they both were in love with this young woman's voice. They both needed her. The masked man needed her for his musical inspiration; Dracula needed her to feel alive again. _He could make things very difficult for me, this strange masked creature. Of all the men I have seen, he is the only one I would even consider as an equal. Such power and genius! Pity he is opposed to me; I would love to get to know this man who possesses a soul almost as dark as my own. _

So Dracula waited patiently through the masked man's song, watching and learning. When Christine fainted and was left to rest in a private room, the vampire saw his chance to finally be alone with her. Flitting across the open space unseen, he entered the chamber and landed next to the ornate swan shaped bed. Returning to his human appearance, Dracula leaned over Christine's angelic face and lightly caressed her hair. His hand moved to the curve of her face, tracing the outline of her jaw, and was soon resting on the smooth pale skin of the throat. Dracula could feel her life blood coursing beneath his fingers. Vampiric hunger surged through him, dropping him to his knees, his fangs poised over her ivory neck. He almost went through with it; he almost bit her right then and there. He would have if Christine had not decided at that moment to shift in her sleep, giving a small moan as she turned. It was that small noise that saved her. Christine's voice shocked the Count to his senses. Realizing what he had almost done to that beautiful instrument that he so desired Dracula stood again, clenching his jaw and hands in frustration. This was not the time, not with a man as obsessive about Christine as he was in the next room. If anything happened to her now, the masked man would never let her out of his sight again. No, Dracula would have to wait until she was truly alone.

Resigning to this, his hunger cooled, Dracula did the one thing he could do. Leaning over her face once more, he brought his lips to her upturned ear, so close he was nearly touching, he whispered, "Another night my love. Soon, you will be mine."

Sensing the coming of the dawn, the vampire took his leave, transforming into a bat and flying back the way he had come.

**A/N: Review please! I worked extra hard on this chapter. I like to know if people are reading or not! I'll try to get the next chapter out sooner, I promise!**


	4. A Night's Visitations

**A/N: I'm back! I tried to post this last night, but the server wouldn't let me log in! O well, here it is now. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: See previous chapter.**

Ch. 4: A Night's Visitations

"_Time I tried to get a better half!"_

"_Poor fool, he doesn't know! Hoho, hoho ho-"_

"No, no! One of you is late again! All right, once again, from 'Serafimo- away with this pretence'."

"What! Do you want me to lose my voice opening night! Why must we always begin with my line?"

"Please, signora…"

"All right, all right! _Serafimo-away with this pretence, you cannot speak but kiss me in my husband's absence!_"

High above the stage, higher than even most stagehands ventured, Erik cringed at the sounds which Carlotta attempted to pass as her singing voice. She was completely murdering the role of the Countess. _Why won't those insufferable managers listen!_ _I told them explicitly that Christine was to play the Countess, not that bellowing cow! _

The Phantom suppressed the urge to drop a sandbag on Carlotta's head; Christine was standing near her in the role of the pageboy and could easily be crushed by Carlotta's falling body. Instead, he envisioned the pompous soprano's horror on opening night when she discovered what was in store for her. _You will eat your words, Carlotta. Enjoy your rehearsals, for these will be your last!_

Eventually Erik could not take the ear splitting screeching anymore and, with one last look at Christine, he abandoned his vigil over the _Il Muto_ rehearsals. He needed to clear his head of that horrible singing, fervently wishing that he could have a lesson with Christine, if only to hear her voice. That was impossible though, now that she knew who he was. He was no longer her angel of music, her heavenly guardian sent by her father to bless her voice with God's light. No, he was just a pitiful monster now, a creature of the underworld cursed by God with a face of death. Though he tried to block it from his mind, images of Christine's terrified and pitying face continued appear before the Phantom's eyes. Anger shot though him like a knife, as terrible now as on that fateful day a week ago when he had finally revealed himself to Christine. _Why, oh why did she have to see?_

The Opera Ghost flew down the rickety stairs and dark, deserted hallways, not even bothering to silence his steps. He did not care if anyone saw him at the moment; he would have taken any excuse to throttle someone in an effort to vent his rage. Luckily no one crossed his path, and Erik soon found himself at the edge of the lake. The cool inky darkness of the fifth cellar had a soothing affect, and the Phantom soon found his temper waning. Longing for the solace only his music could bring, Erik stepped into his waiting boat and set off for the secret house on the opposite shore.

As he neared the portal to his home, Erik became aware of a light fluttering sound intruding upon the silence. Curious, he stopped to listen. The sound was coming from above and behind, soft and rhythmic, like the beating of wings. Turning, Erik focused his light accustomed eyes into the gloom and could just make out the shape of a bat flying in his direction. Now this sparked his interest. It had been years since any bats had inhabited the caverns beneath the opera; all of them had been driven away by the construction of the gargantuan structure. Erik had always been regretful for that, being in part responsible for the work done on the cellars. The return of the bats meant a lot to him. They were creatures of the night, such as he, hated by mankind, shunned for their ugliness. Erik sincerely hoped the appearance of one heralded the coming of more.

Eager for more brothers in darkness, the Phantom scoured the rocky ceiling for signs of a colony, but none could be found. It was strange finding a bat travelling on its own; they were usually quite social creatures. _Perhaps this one has become separated from its mates. _

During Erik's distraction, the gondola continued to float ahead on its leftover inertia, passing though the open gate. Seeing the iron teeth of the portcullis pass overhead, Erik returned his attention to his craft, maneuvering it to the shore. After securing it against the wayward current, the Phantom checked to see of the bat was still following him, chiding himself for his childlike hopes. There was no logical reason for a wild bat to willingly enter a semi-enclosed space with a human, forsaking the relative safety of the cave. Yet as Erik's eyes swept the breadth of his front door, he discovered a small bundle of black fur hanging from one of the portcullis' crossbars. A pair of beady black eyes met the Phantom's mismatched ones; a crooked smile creased the unmasked half of Erik's face as he nodded to the bat. With a large sweeping motion of his arm which sent hiscloak swirling, the Opera Ghost said, "Welcome to the Phantom's lair, my little friend. All creatures of the night are welcome here; you have nothing to fear of me."

The little bat gave no hint of acknowledgement or movement, simply staring back unblinkingly. Erik shrugged, removing his flowing cloak to the floor of his boat and walking up to the platform on which the magnificent pipe organ waited. As he walked he spoke to the bat in a calm soothing voice, attempting to lure it down from its roost. "You are the first of your kind I have seen in quite some time, little one, at least down here. I'm afraid I scared all of your brethren away years ago, quite unintentionally of course. Construction is never very pleasant to live with. I am glad at least one of you is brave enough to return. There is ample room in these cellars, I barely use a fraction, but I regret there is not much in the way of food. I find eating a tedious practice at best so you'll have to go out for your meals, for I have little to offer in that department."

By now, Erik had reached his precious organ. He silently caressed the keys and then turned to face the bat. "I hope you don't mind," he said, sitting before the powerful instrument, "but that cow's lowing is still echoing in my ears, and I must purge it!"

With those words, the Phantom swung his legs over the bench, faced the keys, and struck a forceful chord. He held that chord for several moments, feeling each of the notes, before moving on to a haunting melody that pulsed with a strange sensual power. Erik swayed with each stroke of his hands, pouring every fiber of his being into the music, his music. When at last the theme was finished, he leaned back and stretched his arms, emitting a sigh of relief. A slight breeze brushed his upturned face. When Erik looked down at the organ again, he found the bat perched precariously on the music stand. This amused him greatly, further improving his mood. Suppressing an almost childlike excitement, Erik held his hand out to the little creature clinging to his beloved organ. After a moment's hesitation, the bat fluttered to the proffered hand, hanging from a skeletal finger. The Phantom brought his arm up until he and the bat were eye level. With a smile on his crooked lips, he addressed the fellow night creature, "Did you enjoy that? It is a part of my opera. I won't tell you the title though; it is not finished yet. I do not even have words for that theme just yet, but not to fear, I will soon. I have a most talented… inspiration; this opera is for her. I will make her a triumph! With Christine's voice and my music we'll- Ah!"

Out of nowhere, the little bat that had been placidly soaking up his words turned and bit Erik on a knuckle. In shock, Erik flung the creature away, sending it flying out across the water towards the gate. Gripping his bleeding hand, the Phantom watched the bat right itself and fly out into the cave, wondering what offense he had spoken.

* * *

"Oh, thank God, that's over."

Christine heaved a heavy sigh when the door to her dressing room was safely shut. Today's rehearsal had seemed interminable, lasting much longer than usual. It was sure to be night now. Christine groaned as she changed from the pageboy costume into her own dress, not looking forward to a journey home in the dark. Many of the delays in rehearsal had been Carlotta's fault in one way or another, mostly due to her stubbornness. _That woman has enough vanity to fill the opera!_, thought Christine, recalling how she had been "instructed" by Carlotta on the proper way to give the stage kiss, so as not to damage her makeup.

The thought of the snobbish diva turned Christine's thoughts down a much darker path, causing her to look at the tall mirror built into the far wall. She knew the role of the Countess was meant to be hers, not Carlotta's; the angel of music had taught her the part perfectly. No, not an angel, a Phantom, a musical genius, a man, _Erik…_

Was he watching now? Had he seen the way the managers disobeyed his commands and flaunted his threats? Christine did not want to know. As much as she loathed Carlotta, she adored the opera and did not want anything to happen to it. The _Opera Populaire _was her home more than the little flat to which she now headed. Turning the key in the lock of her dressing room door, Christine silently prayed Erik did nothing rash as a punishment. She remembered his rage that night when her curiosity got the better of her, bringing her to do the most foolish thing she had ever done in her life. As the mask parted with Erik's face, he had let loose an almost inhuman scream, rounding on Christine with murderous fury which scared her even more than the sight of his face.

Christine stopped in her tracks, the cool night air outside the opera adding to the shiver which ran down her spine at the memory. Oh his face! The young singer could not bear to think of it, the horrible disfiguration twisted with anger and grief. How pained he had been, knowing that his image of beauty and mystery had been shattered, laying crumpled at Christine's feet, one hand reaching for the mask while the other covered his shame.

In an effort to take her mind off those disturbing events, Christine hailed a passing handsome cab, giving the driver her address, fervently hoping for a dreamless sleep.

_

* * *

This is far too easy._

Hanging from the arm of a relief statue adorning an arch of the opera, a small black bat watched Christine exit the building through a side door and make her way down the street, stopping to hail a cab. As the cab moved off, the bat released his hold on the stone and took off in pursuit. Tailing a target as large as a handsome cab was no difficult task; Dracula let his mind wander back to a few hours previous.

Arriving at the opera just after sunset, he found Christine still involved with rehearsals. Since he was not allowed to watch and did not want to spoil his experience of _Il Muto_, the vampire took the form of a bat and began to explore. There were endless passageways and rooms, containing everything from costume and set workshops to private dormitories for the ballet students. Unfortunately, most of these were either empty or outrageously crowded and busy; everyone in the opera was concentrating on the upcoming performance. This normal human industry was quickly lost on the Count. Searching for more amusements, he began to travel lower and lower through the opera, down into its cellars.

The chambers beneath the opera proper were littered with old set pieces and other unused castoffs. These interested Dracula even less than the milling workers upstairs. As the bat continued his downward spiral, he soon became aware of the presence of water. Realizing he was approaching the underground lake, Dracula had the most ingenious idea. _I wonder if the masked man would mind a visit. It's time I got to know my rival._

Descending into the ever growing darkness, Dracula found the lake with little trouble and began retracing his path to the secret house. As he neared the entrance, a surprise awaited him; the masked man was standing in his gondola watching his approach! The vampire could see him clearly in the gloom of the cave, an odd expression gracing what could be seen of his face. The man appeared happy to see him, almost eager, as if he thought a bat flying towards his home was a momentous occasion, like the return of a long lost brother. This puzzled Dracula. Most humans hated bats with a passion, equating them with rats, seeing them as diseased flying rodents, but this strange reclusive man was almost begging for the bat to follow him inside.

Eventually, the masked man had to tend to his craft, tying it to a short dock. Dracula stopped just before entering the chamber, resting under the iron portcullis, watching the man; he was much more interesting than the workers above. When he had finished with the boat, the masked man noticed the bat, and, with a flourish, welcomed it to his home. Dracula simply watched him, amused. _So, mysterious masked man, you have a name: Phantom. Now, what other secrets will you tell me, what is under the mask perhaps?_

When the Phantom began to move towards his organ, Dracula held his breath. From what he had heard of the Phantom's music on his previous visit, this man was indeed a genius of the highest caliber, blessed with a powerful voice and a talent to match. As the Phantom began to speak, the vampire found himself drawn to the sound, lured as a moth to light. How was this possible? Nothing before had even attempted to control him, the Prince of Darkness; it was he who controlled others! Only Dracula's wits kept him rooted to the portcullis when his body yearned to go to that beautiful hypnotic voice which would have called a true bat in an instant. Dracula watched the Phantom seat himself at the organ, priding himself for his self-control.

Then the music began.

Whatever willpower the vampire thought he had soon vanished as he lost himself in the power of the music. It was like a physical force crashing against his mind, crushing all resistance, all thought of self; there was only the music. This was nothing like Christine's voice; in fact it was quite the opposite. Where her voice elicited peace, happiness, and other human emotions, his music erased all human thought and feeling, leaving only the animal urges, the hunger and lust of the vampire, feelings which Dracula could normally keep in check. The bat writhed on its perch, torn between a thirst for blood and a rapidly weakening sense of reason.

Just when Dracula thought he would lose the battle and attack the one person within his sight, the music ended. Relief washed over him, relief and an increased respect for this god among mortals who possessed the power to control the uncontrollable. The vampire realized he could not bring himself to kill him, no matter how powerful he was, no matter how much he interfered. This genius deserved to live. Dracula would just have to find a way around him.

In acknowledgement to the Phantom's early desire and his mastery over him for that brief period of time, the bat flitted over to the man. He was obviously overjoyed and held out a finger as a perch. As Dracula hung from his finger, relaxing in the sound of his soothing voice, he puzzled over the enigmatic Phantom. _Why does a genius composer hide from civilization when he has so much to give? He is not an evil person, judging by his love of animals, eccentric, but not evil. It must have something to do with the mask. Mankind must have been cruel to him, to have chased him into the dark like a beast, like a vampire… _

His feelings of pity quickly shifted to that of jealousy at the mention of Christine's name, causing him to bite the Phantom sharply on the hand. Fuming at his own rashness as well as the Phantom's obvious love for Christine, Dracula had flown away, no longer trusting himself in the Phantom's presence.

All that had happened hours ago. The Phantom's words had only increased Dracula's resolve to see Christine that night, sending him to wait patiently near the door the actors frequented. He had followed Christine from the opera all the way to her nearby flat. Now, he hung just outside her bedroom window, watching as she brushed her hair before a small vanity. _How easy it would be to sneak up on her as she looks into the mirror; she would not even see me approach!_

Dracula discouraged this thought. Christine was special; her voice was what the vampire desired. A scream of fright would be the absolute worst thing for her to do, something which was sure to happen if he approached her awake. No, Dracula would wait until she was sleeping before making a move.

It did not take long for Christine to finish her preparations and slip between the covers of her simple bed, soon asleep with exhaustion. When the vampire was sure she was unconscious, he shifted into a fog and slipped between the cracks in the window pane, returning to a human shape as soon as he was inside. The hunger ignited by the Phantom's music had not been forgotten and now gnawed fiercely at Dracula's consciousness at the sight of Christine's pale face resting on a plain white pillow. Appetite whetted by the nip he had given to his rival, Dracula crossed the small space to the bed with sure silent steps, stopping near the edge. Looking down at her, Dracula was suddenly struck by a most annoying dilemma: how was he to feed without leaving a noticeable scar, never mind the potential damage he could cause to her throat? Biting the neck was completely out of the question. It was much too obvious, as he had learned in London, and often was deadly to the victim. Dracula tended to get carried away, bleeding people dry, something he wanted to avoid at all costs when it came to Christine. She was meant for much greater things than death.

Frustrated, the vampire brought up his hand to rub his temple. How was he to mark her as his own without seriously hurting her?

Suddenly Dracula had the most ingenious idea. It was a method he rarely used, for it was terribly slow, but it suited these circumstances perfectly. Extending a pale skinned hand, Dracula brushed Christine's face, hoping for a certain response from the sleeping singer.

He got it.

Reacting to the vampire's touch, Christine unconsciously brought a hand out from under the sheets to bat at the irritation. Dracula caught it gently, freezing, waiting to see whether the action would disturb the sleeper. It did not. Christine was so deeply asleep that she did not move as Dracula lowered himself to his knees, her arm still within his grasp. Bringing it to his lips, the vampire admired the beauty of this human's flesh; the pale, translucent skin of the wrist betraying the presence of veins just below the surface. Dracula was loath to mar such a perfect body, but it had to be done; Christine could not become his bride unless he tasted her blood. Finally giving in to his hunger, Dracula drew a shallow cut across Christine's wrist with his long claw-like thumbnail, placing his lips around the wound in order to capture every last drop which escaped.

The edge taken off his hunger, Dracula waited by Christine's bedside to ensure the bleeding had stopped, tying a black silk handkerchief around her thin wrist. Satisfied that she was in no danger, the Count leaned over the bed and placed a light kiss on Christine's cheek, whispering into her ear once again. "The first step has been taken, my bride to be. There is nothing that will keep me from you now, not your precious angel or your childhood playmate. I have tasted your blood; I have chosen. You will become my bride. Do not fret, for I will allow you to keep your fragile humanity for the moment, but when the time comes and our places are reversed, you will thank me for the honor I give you. Until then, my love, do not forget who your true master is."

Throughout Dracula's visit, Christine had barely moved in her sleep, resting like the dead, but as the vampire stood by the window preparing to leave, she rolled onto her side and mumbled a single word: "…Erik?"

A fountain of rage exploded within Dracula. Beyond all sense of reason, the vampire wrenched open the window and jumped out, falling the three stories to street level. Unfazed, having landed on his feet like a cat, he stormed off in search of some hapless victim on which to vent his anger and reawakened hunger.

* * *

A sudden draft woke Christine from her slumber. Seeing the open window, which she was sure had been closed when she went to bed, Christine got up to reclose it, only to find herself feeling strangely weak. _Must be from the stress, _she thought as she made her way across the room.

She stumbled as she reached the window, placing a hand against the frame for support. It was then Christine noticed the handkerchief. Equating it with the black ribbon attached to the rose she had received after _Hannibal_, Christine whispered hesitantly, "Erik… Angel?"

Hearing no response, Christine shut the window and crawled back into bed, wondering what the Phantom had been doing in her room in the middle of the night.

* * *

Mina Harker started from her dream, peering anxiously through the darkness of the small apartment until she regained her bearings. This vision had been so strong Mina felt she had been there; every detail had been perfect, especially the faces. Quickly finding the journal and pencil on the bedside table, Mina recorded a single line: Dracula has chosen a new woman to be his bride, a young singer named Christine.

**A/N: Wow, a lot happens in this chapter. Thank you to my reviewers! For those of you who are reading, but not reviewing, please review. Pretty please! Reading reviews helps motivate me to write. I'm not sure when I'll get the next chapter up since I have a load of school papers due this week, but I'll try my best!**


	5. The Slayer Cometh

**A/N: Sorry about the lateness and shortness of this chapter. I have been swamped with schoolwork and other stuff, so I am happy I had the time to write what little I did! One of the things which occupied my time was the creation of a series of PotO chibi comics as well as finally getting Photoshop. To compensate for the shortness of the chapter, I have posted an illustration for this phic on my DeviantArt account; it is the homepage listed on my profile. The picture is for the first chapter; I plan to have a picture for each chapter. Take a look at the chibi Phantoms too and leave lots of comments. Comments make me happy! **

**Disclaimer: See chapter one.**

Ch. 5: The Slayer Cometh

"Hmph. I thought as much."

If the couple sipping wine under the awning of the small café were disturbed by the strange foreigner with his head buried in a newspaper sitting across from them, they hid it well. Professor Van Helsing paid little attention to the sidelong glances he was attracting, engrossed in an article describing the recent rash of murders, all portraying the same mysterious cause of death: a massive loss of blood. None of the victims exhibited severe wounds or injuries which could have caused the hemorrhaging with one exception; most of the bodies only bore small cuts on the neck, reminiscent of teeth marks. There was one victim that did not fit with the others completely. The body was found not with simple puncture wounds on the neck, but the entire throat torn out as if by a rabid beast. No apparent connection existed between the victims, only that many of them were street vagrants and castoffs. So far there had been fifteen murders with a new body discovered almost every day. No arrests had been made; any suspects were quickly proved innocent. Paris was falling under the shadow of some unknown evil, and its citizens were powerless to stop it.

Van Helsing laid down the paper and looked up into bright Parisian sky, weighing these events against what he knew of vampires in general and Dracula in particular. These murders were definitely the work of a vampire, that much was certain. Whether or not it was Dracula remained to be seen. From his experience in London, Van Helsing knew that Dracula typically hunted the upper and middle class; slums had not been his favorite hunting ground. There was also the matter of the brutally attacked victim. That did not coincide with any of the London victims; it was something completely new. Though he knew the Count was a soulless monster, Van Helsing could not picture him killing a man in that fashion. Dracula was too much of a gentleman to tear out a man's throat, even if he was starving. He would probably see it as crude and inefficient compared to the usual method. _Perhaps if he was angry enough…_

Finishing his tea, the professor left the little café and its curious patrons to sightsee. It had been several years since he was last in Paris, and he wondered how much the city had grown in that time. As Van Helsing strolled down the Champs Elysees, glancing over the storefronts and shop windows, he could easily imagine the city at night, gas lamps lighting every street corner as happy couples walked down the moonlit pathways hand in hand, blissfully unaware of everything but themselves. Unfortunately, Van Helsing could also imagine Dracula stalking these streets, appraising each of the bluebloods, deciding who would be the most challenging to hunt. _Paris is much different that London_, he thought, _this place suits a vampire far too much for my liking. Dracula must be hiding here somewhere._

At length, Van Helsing decided to make good his promise to the Harkers and make arrangements to attend the _Opera Populaire_. A cab brought him swiftly to the awesome structure. As he alighted, Van Helsing stared up at the opera in wonder. Though this was not his first time seeing the building, it was still a sight to behold. The professor could not fathom how much time and manpower went into the construction of such a mammoth. Waiting in line to purchase a ticket to the next opera, Van Helsing tried to remember what the inside looked like. He recalled that it was very ornate and lavishly decorated, and that it had a myriad of rooms, hallways and alcoves. _A man could lose his way in there and never be found!_

Suddenly it occurred to him how very true that statement was. With so many rooms and passages in that building, a person could hide themselves effectively for years, right under the public's nose. Adding the amount of people who attended the opera, most of whom were upper class, the _Opera Populaire_ seemed a logical choice for Dracula's hunting ground. _He could even be living inside somewhere, hidden away in one of the cellars perhaps._

Purchasing his ticket, Van Helsing strove off to his lodgings to prepare himself. The opening performance of _Il Muto_, the Opera's newest production, was the very next night. The professor fervently hoped that the Harkers would attend. Hopefully he would find them before Dracula. Closing the door of his small apartment behind him, Van Helsing arranged his various tools and charms out on the bed, selecting those which he could easily conceal in his dress suit. As he sorted, he came to a thin silver stake, the very same stake he had used on Dracula on their previous encounter. Feeling its weight in his hands, Van Helsing gripped in tightly. _This time Count Dracula, I will not miss!_

**A/N: Again, I'm sorry this is short, but it was the best I could do! Thank you reviewers!!!**


	6. Reunion

**A/N: Yay! I'm back, _finally_. Stupid uploader kept giving me errors all weekend. All righty it's time for Il Muto!**

**Disclaimer: Me no own PotO or _Dracula_. --,,, (sigh)**

Ch. 6: Reunion

"Jonathan, I don't like this."

"I like it even less, Mina, but how else are we going to find the professor in this city?"

Jonathan and Mina stood awkwardly at the top of the _grand escalier_, scrutinizing every face for a hint of Van Helsing's presence. With the flood of so many bodies, it was hard to differentiate between individuals at all, let alone one man amongst the throng. What was worse, most of the men streaming through the front door wore similar clothing, making it impossible to tell them apart until they were walking right past you. This, above all else, unnerved Jonathan. Every silk hat and flowing opera coat brought Dracula's visage to mind. _Damn! That beast could be here watching us this very moment, and I would not have a clue!_

Mina could tell her husband was worrying, his hunched shoulders and clenched jaw gave him away, not to mention the death grip he had on her hand. Every time a male opera patron passed close by, his grip would tighten protectively. The fear Jonathan tried to suppress was shared by his wife, but to a lesser degree. Mina instinctively knew none of the men coming up the stairs were Dracula, and she was sure she would recognize him in a heartbeat. There was that nagging thought though, the knowledge that the vampire was somewhere in Paris, quite possibly in this very building, lying in wait for his next victim. Mina's thoughts turned to the young woman she had seen in her dream, her pale face bathed in moonlight and shadow etched clearly in her mind. Christine had been in the opera; she was a singer, Mina had seen her sing through Dracula's eyes. A cold realization suddenly gripped Mina, sending a chill running up and down her spine. _He's here, he has to be! If she's here, he will be too!_

Mina fought down her growing alarm and inched closer to Jonathan, needing his reassuring presence. Jonathan noticed Mina's movement and responded by wrapping an arm around her shoulders, but he did not take his eyes off the constantly shifting crowd. The two of them stood like this for several minutes, peering through the masses for their eccentric friend. Jonathan, his eyes glued to the front door, was beginning to feel quite foolish waiting like this in the open for all to see. Irritated, he looked down at his wife and whispered, "If he doesn't show himself in the next five minutes, we are going to our seats. I cannot stand much more of this. We'll just have to find him after the performance."

Mina turned to Jonathan and nodded in agreement, and then froze. A man was approaching Jonathan from behind, wearing a long coat and wide-brimmed hat. Jonathan, reading the surprise in Mina's eyes, grew concerned. "What is it? Is it another vision?"

Mina shook her head and merely stared over Jonathan's shoulder, trying to see the face of the man who was now nearly upon the pair. Jonathan, so absorbed with Mina, did not notice as the man came up behind him. "Always mind your surroundings Harker, I thought I taught you better than this."

Jonathan started, spinning around to face the man, arms spread as a shield between Mina and this potential threat. He relaxed when he saw who it was. "Professor! Where did you come from? We've been waiting for hours."

"I arrived when the doors first opened several hours ago, spending the time scouting the vicinity," replied Van Helsing. "I looked for you in the theater first, assuming you would have the sense to wait for me to come to you. When it became apparent that you were not there, this was the only other place I would expect to find you."

Chastened but not discouraged, Jonathan stood his ground. "Well, how was I supposed to know you would come to us? Your note was not exactly thorough."

"I distinctly remember writing 'I'll find you.' Besides, you know Dracula is out there somewhere. Why would you endanger you and your wife's life by exposing yourself like this? We might as well put out an advertisement in the paper declaring our presence to the world."

Before Jonathan could retort, Mina stepped between the two men. "If we could please act like civilized adults rather than squabbling schoolboys, there are many things we need to discuss and little time to discuss them in."

Van Helsing shot Harker an annoyed glare before turning his attention to Mina. "Yes, Mrs. Harker, you are quite right. Now, if some of us are through fiddling with inconsequential topics, let us turn our attention to more pressing matters."

The professor led the couple out of the main hall and into the main theater. Once inside, they discovered that their seats were surprisingly close to each other on the main floor, and it was not difficult to convince a couple adjacent to Van Helsing's seat to switch with the Harkers. Settled at the end of the aisle near the back, close to the exits, the slayers exchanged notes. Van Helsing explained his theories about Dracula's use of the opera house and the recent rash of murders. Mina then recounted the contents of her trances, the scenes of the opera, the strange views of an underground lake, and Christine. Van Helsing found this especially disturbing.

"You saw this Christine in the opera, correct?"

"Yes, as clear as day; she left this building and Dracula followed her home," said Mina in a low tone.

"And you believe he means to make her his bride?" prodded the professor.

"I _know_ he means to. He's already bitten her."

Van Helsing glanced up at the curtained stage. "Could you recognize her if you saw her?"

"What good would that do?" interjected Jonathan. "She could be dead or worse by now."

"If we know who she is, Jonathan, the very least we can do is make sure she does not rise again," replied Van Helsing, eyes narrowed in irritation. "Mina?"

"Yes, I think so. Her face was always the clearest thing in the visions. I'm sure I could recognize her."

"Good because the show is starting."

The three of them sat back as the lights dimmed and the curtains withdrew, revealing a large veiled bed. As the scene unfolded, Mina found herself laughing, something which she had not done in a while. She glanced over at Jonathan and discovered a wide smile on his lips as well. For all the dark business of their visit to Paris, it was doing them some good. Sighing, Mina returned her attention to the stage. The veil on the bed had just gone up, revealing a pair of lovers kissing passionately behind a fan. Smiling even wider, Mina waited anxiously for the fan to be removed and the pair revealed.

It was done.

The color drained out of Mina's face as the two actresses became fully visible. Yes, two actresses. The one who was portraying the young man was none other than Christine.

Chuckling, Jonathan looked over to see Mina's reaction, only to find an expression much different than the one he expected. Alarmed, he took her hand and whispered, "What is it? Mina! What's wrong?"

His whispering attracted Van Helsing's attention, and he leaned close to Mina, her being between the two men, to see what she was staring at. Understanding, he turned to the pale-faced woman. "It's her, yes? Serafimo? She is the one?"

Mina merely nodded in response, her eyes still glued to the stage. There was no mistake; that was Christine. The large eyes, the full lips, the long locks of wavy brown hair, it was all there. _Dear God, he's here for sure. What if he sees us! Does he sense me, does he now I'm here?_

As Jonathan frantically tried to reach his wife, Van Helsing leveled his piercing gaze on the woman identified as Christine, looking her up and down for signs of Dracula's influence. Surprisingly, he found nothing. No weakness or fatigue, no conspicuous neck coverings, no faraway gaze, nothing. Puzzled, he whispered to Mina, "Are you positive that is her? We are a fair distance from the stage."

As Mina was about to reply, a booming voice echoed through the theater. "Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

Murmurs rippled through the audience, joined by nervous chatter on the stage. As the voice rang out again, Mina saw the look of fear in Christine's face and knew something was not right. Beside her, Jonathan chuckled again. "That was certainly odd; I've never heard of that being used in an opera before."

"I am not so sure it was part of the show," murmured the professor under his breath.

The lead actress got over the interruption and picked up at the beginning of the scene, singing louder, as if to prove the mysterious voice wrong. It was not long before the voice's statement became fact as a loud croaking began to issue from the soprano's throat. Van Helsing watched as the distraught woman was led offstage in tears; the audience laughing raucously. As the managers mounted the stage and apologized, it was proven that the voice was definitely not part of the show. This unnerved the professor. _Could that be Dracula?_, he wondered. _It is a bit eccentric for him, but men do change. What could he possibly be doing? _

The three of them sat in nervous silence in the rear of the theater while the rest of the audience laughed at the stage crew's frantic attempts to set up the ballet scene of the opera. As the ballet finally got underway, the audience calmed. It did not last for long. With a bloodcurdling scream from one of the ballerinas, a body fell from above the stage, spinning grotesquely at the end of a noose.

Pandemonium erupted. Dancers and actors scattered as stagehands and police crowed onto the stage. One of the managers, attempting to regain calm in the theater, addressed the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats. Do not panic. It was an accident…simply an accident…"

Whatever color Mina had left vanished as the dangling body swung into view. Jonathan, seeing her shock, quickly stood from his seat and blocked the sight from her eyes. He pulled Mina to her feet as well and ushered her towards the exit. As he passed Van Helsing, he said, "I don't know what is going on, but we'd best leave, for Mina's sake. This is just too much."

Nodding in acknowledgement, the professor fell in behind the retreating couple, taking one last look at the stage and its grisly new decoration. _Is this your doing, Dracula? Is this a sign that you know we have come for you and are not afraid? Still, why a noose? _

As she was being shepherded away, Mina recalled the look of fear and wonder in Christine's eyes at the sound of the mysterious voice and the terror of the other cast members. That beautiful, powerful voice which commanded obedience had instilled fear in those people, a fear born not from a few months, but years of torment. _This has gone on long before Dracula ever arrived here_, she decided with reluctance. _That voice was not Dracula's, but another._

* * *

Down in the audience in his seat under the great chandelier, Dracula sat in sullen silence, mulling over what had just taken place. The Phantom's words, for he knew it had been the Phantom who had spoken, concerned him. Though the eccentric man's tactics amused him, the Count knew his end goal was Christine. The iron fist he seemed to hold over the theater company, the sabotage of Carlotta's voice, and even the murder all served to further his plans for the young singer. For all the nuisance he was, Dracula could not help but admire what the Phantom's tenacity. He somehow managed to rule over this small kingdom through fear and superstition alone. Once again, the vampire was struck with a most irritating dilemma: should he kill the Phantom or not? Dracula knew it would be the much easier to gain control over Christine if he were out of the picture, but to destroy such genius seemed like an incredible waste. _Maybe I should simply step up my plans before he makes another move._

At that moment, Dracula caught sight of Christine on the stage, and she was not alone. Leading her off the stage was none other than the young Vicomte. The Count sniffed contemptuously. _And there is the little blue blood. He is becoming much more of an annoyance than I thought possible. I shall have to do something about him as well. I wonder if Christine has confided in him, her childhood sweetheart. Has she told him of her precious angel of music?_

Suddenly an idea asserted itself in Dracula's mind. _Yes, of course! I will play the two sides against each other. As they are caught up in their own rivalry, my actions will go unnoticed. _

The vampire settled comfortably into his seat, content with his plans. _Soon, my sweet Christine, you will belong to me._

**A/N: If anyone is annoyed that I am focusing mostly on the _Dracula_ characters, there is a perfectly good reason. I am following the PotO 2004 movie plotline, which I assume you all already know. If not, well, go watch it! To prevent this story from becoming a simple novelization of the movie, the story follows the _Dracula _characters more. Does that make sense? I hope so, because I do not want anyone complaining that this is not a PotO phic. There, I just wanted to get that out there. Thank you reviewers! On sale Easter candy for all!**


	7. Caught in the Dark

**A/N: Wow, it's certainly been a while sine I last updated. Sorry to keep you waiting so long, so here's a nice long chapter to make up for it. I'll try to be more regular with my updates.**

** Disclaimer: You should know this by now...  
**

Ch. 7: Caught in the Dark

The weeks following the opera disaster crept by at an agonizingly slow pace for Jonathan and Mina. Instructed by Van Helsing to keep Mina away from the Opera at all costs, Jonathan took his words to the extreme. The couple would not even open a window once the sun went down. The whole ordeal had a drastic effect on Mina, sending her into an even more frantic pace of work and research than ever before. As for Jonathan, he just tried to stay out of his wife's way, content to be her guardian and protector. All the two of them really lived for was the next message from the professor. Typically, these came in the form of brief, vague notes that would appear through the slot under their apartment door every few days. Not much was revealed in the messages; they mostly served to prove the well being of the sender.

Early on the morning exactly three weeks since _Il Muto_, Jonathan was jolted from his light slumber by a loud bang. Still disoriented, Jonathan automatically feared the worst and, after ensuring Mina was safely asleep, took up a stout branch with a sharpened tip and cautiously approached the door. As he neared the portal, another thunderous knock reverberated through the room. Bolstering his courage, Jonathan placed his face near the polished wood and hissed, "Who is it? What do you want?"

So loud that it caused Jonathan to jump back a step, a familiar voice shouted, "Open this bloody door, Harker, before I break it down!"

Startled, Jonathan dropped the homemade stake with a clatter and hurried to unbolt the door. When the last lock was undone and the door swung free, Van Helsing shouldered his way past Jonathan and into the room. Quickly closing the door and latching it back up again, Jonathan hurried to the professor, who had collapsed into a chair in the small kitchenette. As he brought out a glass and some cheap brandy, Jonathan noticed Van Helsing looked more haggard than usual. His eyes seemed lost under a heavy, knitted brow, cheeks sunken and lined from an almost perpetual frown. The overall impression was one of intense annoyance, or even anger, coupled with disbelief.

Jonathan filled the glass and placed it on the table in front of Van Helsing and then sat across from him. The professor stared at the glass for several moments before snatching it up and downing it so fast Jonathan didn't even realize what had happened until Van Helsing slid the empty vessel across the table for a refill. Jonathan complied and returned the glass, which Van Helsing sipped slowly and thoughtfully this time.

The two men sat in uneasy silence for several minutes, Van Helsing taking small sips of brandy, Jonathan wondering how Mina had managed to sleep through the racket. At length, the professor finished off the second glass and set it gently on the table. Without even looking up, he murmured, "Awaken Mina, Harker. She needs to hear what I have to say."

"But Van Helsing, it's not even six yet! You cannot expect me to get her up at this hour. She doesn't get enough sleep as it is."

Van Helsing let out an aggravated sigh and took off his spectacles in order to massage the bridge of his nose. "And what do you suppose I have been doing all night, hmm? Just get her. I am in no mood to repeat myself."

Acquiescing to the professor's command, Jonathan returned to the bedroom to wake his wife.

A few minutes later, the three of them were seated around the table, nursing steaming cups of tea. No one appeared eager to start conversation and so no one did, the empty minutes ticking by with nothing to show but a lukewarm drink. When at last all the cups were empty and the Harkers looked ready to nod off where they sat, Van Helsing cleared his throat load enough to get their attention. "Now then," began the professor, "you may be wondering why I have come and imposed on you at such an early hour, but what I am about to tell you could not wait. As you know from the notes I have sent you, I have spent these past weeks scouring the opera house for signs of Dracula. I began my investigation by questioning the owners, and Andre and Firmin. They were more than eager to complain to me about a mysterious man known to all the employees as the Opera Ghost. The managers refused to believe in such nonsense as ghosts, instead believing the man to be an extortionist of some kind, sending notes demanding twenty thousand francs a month and threatening terrible disasters if they did not make changes to the casting of _Il Muto_. Obviously, this piqued my interest, so I asked them if these threats had anything to with the disaster during the performance. This question unsettled the pair greatly; they adamantly insisted that that poor man had committed suicide.

"After that, the managers became suspicious of me and demanded the reason for my presence. I did not tell them about Dracula, since I doubted they would have believed me, and instead told them I had cause to believe that a dangerous convict from London, a murderer, has hidden himself in their opera house and that I was a private investigator aiding the local police. They seemed to believe this, especially when I hinted that this murderer could be the source of the strange deaths of late, and gave me leave to search the grounds and question the other employees."

As Van Helsing continued his narrative, Mina felt that cold dread from three weeks before creep back to life, the feeling that they were dealing with two monsters, not one. Wishing to voice her feelings but unwilling to interrupt the professor, Mina sat in pensive silence as he continued.

"Now, as I questioned the various people employed at the opera, I kept getting very similar responses. Most believed a ghost haunts the opera, the phantom spirit of one of the many poor souls who died there when the building was used for torture during the war years ago. When asked of his appearance, the common response was of a skeletal form shrouded in black with a death's head for a face, though I doubt many had actually seen the ghost. I asked whether a man fitting Dracula's appearance had been seen wandering the corridors late at night, but no one had. This, plus the fact that most accounts of the ghost went back several years, made me wonder whether Dracula and this Phantom of the Opera were two different men entirely."

Jonathan gave the professor an incredulous look. "So you think that Dracula is not at the opera house, that the troubles we saw three weeks ago were the fault of this Phantom?"

"Just because no one has seen Dracula does not mean he is not there, but I now know for certain that he is not this ghost."

This caught Mina's attention. "How do you know, professor?" she asked.

"Well, the reason I know is the reason why I have dropped in on you this morning. Yesterday afternoon I had the opportunity to speak with the opera's patron, the Vicomte de Chagny, who is Christine's suitor, according to some of the ballerinas. He told me the most astonishing story, in the strictest of confidence. The only reason he told me, as he said, was because he thought I could help Christine. You see, I told him the truth about my presence, not the half truths I had been telling the opera employees and the managers. Though he was skeptical, the Vicomte was willing to listen to my warning. I later found out why he was so open minded."

With that, Van Helsing recounted the Vicomte's words, which had been told to him by Christine on the roof of the opera house three weeks ago. He told of a mysterious teacher who gave Christine her voice, who stole her away after her debut performance to the depths of the opera, and who possesses the face of death. Worst of all, he told of Christine's strange fascination with a man with the voice of an angel but the face of a devil, a murderer who has killed before and will kill again, the Phantom of the Opera.

"The Vicomte appears to be deeply in love with Miss Daae and offered whatever assistance he could give. He also expressed a passionate desire to meet the Phantom face to face, which could be useful to us at some point," ended Van Helsing.

"Did you tell him you think Dracula is after her as well?" asked Jonathan.

"No. I did not say one way or the other, only told facts. At the time I was still unsure, but now I know without the shadow of a doubt that the Opera Ghost is another man. I met him."

This woke Jonathan up completely. "You met him! Where?"

" 'Met' is not the appropriate term, for we did not meet as friends would for a drink. 'Captured' is more correct. The Phantom caught me in the deep cellars."

With this remark, Van Helsing absentmindedly brought his hand to his throat in a protective manner. Mina, being of shorter stature than her husband, could clearly see a straight line of angry red welts running along the base of his jaw. Concerned, she asked whether or not he was hurt. Hearing this, Van Helsing quickly dropped his hand and retorted, "Injured? Me? Whatever gave you that idea?"

Mina pointed at his neck. "The ligature marks there are quite plain, professor. What happened?"

Startled to hear that the untouchable Van Helsing had for once been caught off guard, Jonathan prodded him on. "Yes professor, do tell."

Mumbling something under his breath, Van Helsing replied, "Of course I will tell you, why do you think I came this morning in the first place?"

The Harkers nodded their understanding while Van Helsing swirled the dregs of his tea around the bottom of his cup, collecting his thoughts. When he finally looked back up, he wore a much darker countenance. "After I spoke with the Victome," he began, "I made up my mind to search the cellars for Dracula, just to settle with myself that he was not there. By the time I began, it was late afternoon, and I searched hour upon hour, going deeper and deeper, far deeper than I thought possible for cellars to go, until I was five levels down into the earth with no signs of the vampire's presence. Just about when I thought every nook and cranny had been searched, I came upon a hidden passageway, tucked away behind some old sets. Naturally, I followed this dark corridor until it led me, strangely enough, to an underground lake."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at this. "A _lake_, professor?"

"Yes, a lake. Don't interrupt. I am loath to repeat this as it is. Now then, I was as perplexed as you, for what is a lake doing underneath on opera house? I gave the waterfront a good sweep, finding little of interest except slime covered stone and dank water. I was just about to turn back when I came upon an even stranger sight: a small boat. I had little time to investigate though, for just as I approached the craft, I found myself yanked off my feet, unable to breathe."

With this, he paused and turned his head so the ring of bruises was visible to Jonathan, who responded by bringing his own had around his neck, remembering all too well the grizzly sight from three weeks before. Van Helsing readjusted the collar of his coat to better hide the marks before continuing. "The next thing I knew, I was eye to eye with a man whose face was half covered by a mask, one of his hands clutched around my collar, the other holding his lasso, for that is what he used to catch me, taut. So tall was he, that my feet did not even reach the floor!

"When I thought I was certain to suffocate, the man loosened the cord just enough for me to draw in a ragged breath and then hissed though his teeth, 'Why are you here?'

"Naturally I was still a bit on the disoriented side, so the first thing that came to mind was that this had to be the so-called Phantom of the Opera. When I accused him of this he did not react, not even a blink, and repeated his question. Needless to say, I was not in the circumstances to lie again; I'm sure he would have seen through any falsity anyway."

"So you told him the truth too," said Jonathan, sinking back into his chair.

"It's not like he had much of a choice, Jonathan," commented Mina, taking her husband's hand for reassurance. "How much did you tell him?"

Van Helsing sighed, rubbing a place on his temple as he spoke. "As little as possible, but still too much. Once I started telling him about Dracula and vampires, he started asking questions. His questions disturbed me, and they still do, for as I went on, he wanted to know more and more, things that very few people wish to know. Perhaps the most disturbing inquiry of his was the origin of vampires. I tried to avoid this, but he insisted, tightening the noose around my neck. I had no choice but to tell him all vampires are born from Dracula's blood. I am concerned with the reason for his curiosity, but it is too late to retract what I revealed. At least I did not mention Christine; as soon as the Phantom learned how vampires are born, he dropped me and vanished into the darkness. I came straight here as soon as I got my bearings."

The three of them sat in silence for several moments each mulling over this strange series of events. As Mina thought over the professor's words, one of her visions from several weeks before came to mind. Excited, she excused herself for a moment to retrieve her vision diary, flipping hastily through the pages as she returned. Sitting back down at the table, Mina placed the diary in front of Van Helsing, holding it open to a page with several hastily drawn sketches. "Do you recognize anything, professor?" she asked as Van Helsing peered at the drawings with interest.

"These are based on your visions?" he asked.

"Yes. As soon as faces became clearer, I put as much as I could remember on paper."

"Mmhm, yes. Excellent idea, Mina. Now, most of these are fairly vague. I recognize Miss Daae there; not so sure about those. Are there any more?"

"I believe there is another page."

Nodding in confirmation, Van Helsing flipped the page over, his mouth dropping open slightly at the sight, for there was the Phantom staring back at him with the same piercing eyes as had bored into him just hours ago. "Mina," he said grievously, "tell me everything."

* * *

Deep in his lair five cellars bellow the opera, Erik paced about with a nervous energy usually reserved for his composing. After his chance meeting with Van Helsing, countless thoughts and ideas crowded his mind, so much so that it was difficult focus on one before another asserted itself. One thought kept resurfacing, though, until it was all the Phantom could think about: vampirism. He remembered talk of vampires during his time with the gypsies, how they were evil undead creatures who clung to life by consuming the blood of the living. There had even been rumors when he was young and new to the gypsy life that he was the bastard child of a vampire and a woman, cursed by heaven and hell for being the fruit of such an atrocity. Eventually such ideas were dismissed, but Erik still remembered the tortures he was put through to ensure the falsity of such claims: left for hours in the baking sun, draped with wreathes of garlic and wolf's bane with silver amulets pressed against his flesh.

For years, Erik dismissed such tales as a ridiculous legend of a superstitious people, but here was an educated man who firmly believed in the existence of vampires and insisted one was at large in the area. Not just any vampire, but the father of all vampires: Dracula. Though he was still skeptical of their existence, Erik marveled at the liberty vampires would possess, completely unbound from human laws and emotions, things that Erik found rather annoying at times.

All the facts and information he had forced from Van Helsing seemed frivolous compared to one vampiric attribute in Erik's mind, though: immortality. Having power over the common man had always sparked an interest with the Opera Ghost; it had been one of the contributing factors to his stay in Persia as well as his source of income these past years. But this kind of raw power was of a different league entirely and held many tantalizing promises. Erik soon found himself fantasizing about life as a vampire, living as a god among mortals, immune from nearly every attack, free at last from the pain and torment that followed him nearly everywhere he went. Loosing himself more and more to this twisted dream, Erik began to wonder if becoming a vampire would heal him, if the power to circumvent death and injury could also make him whole. The very idea of somehow shedding the twisted and deformed piece of flesh that existed where half his face should was an astounding one to say the least. _How would my life change?_ Erik wondered, still lost in a frenzy of thought and imagination. _I could walk the streets at night without hindrance. I would not have to constantly hide in the shadows like a rat. Attending the opera would be a much simpler task. And Christine! Would she love me if I was no__t a deformed, hideous__ monster?__ Could she love me as a vampire?_

Memories of that night on the opera's roof came flooding back. The anger, the betrayal were as fresh as if Christine had just spoken those cutting words, words of love and devotion to that pompous brat. Incensed, Erik rushed to his organ and slammed chord after forceful chord into the keys, channeling his anger and frustration into bone rattling notes. When his temper cooled and his senses returned, the Phantom thought long and hard about the strange ideas that had taken root. _Christine could never love me as a vampire. If she __does not__accept__ me for what I truly am, how could she possibly__ choose and inhuman creature over her precious __Vicomte_

Satisfied he had settled that issue, Erik filed it away amongst the other schemes and plots he had in mind and got back to work on his masterpiece, for the annual New Year's ball was fast approaching and he could not afford to be late.

**A/N: Well, there you have it. My apologies once again for the long wait. I hope people are still reading this... Those of you that still are, please review!**


	8. Midnight Shadows

**A/N: A thousand and one apologies for making you wait so long! It seems that the visual arts have taken a stronger hold on my creativity than I thought they would. Luckily for you, a very time consuming contest entry has left me a bit burned out with regards to 3D art. I have taken the opportunity to whip you up another chapter. I don't know how long this burn out will last, but I will try my hardest to finish this. Pinky promise. ;-)**

**Disclaimer: ...Really?**

Ch. 8 Midnight Shadows

Raoul de Chagny was positively glowing with excitement. It had been six months since that awful suicide during _Il Muto_, and things were certainly much brighter. With no sign of the supposed Opera Ghost, the young Vicomte had renewed his advances towards Christine, and she, surprisingly enough, had accepted them. Oh, the two of them had had a grand time doing the things young couples do. There was hardly a Friday when Christine did not rush to her dressing room after ballet practice or rehearsals so she would be ready to go when Raoul arrived, ignoring the giggling ballerinas and Madame Giry's stern gaze. Raoul recollected one such evening not even a week past as he prepared himself for bed. He had taken Christine to a quiet candlelight dinner on the banks of the Seine and, afterwards, on a leisurely carriage ride along the Strand. It was then that the young noble had taken the young actress' hand and left something inside. Christine's face, which had seemed more drawn and weary than normal these past few months, brightened with curiosity. Lifting her hand to the open window, Christine had opened her palm only to find a glittering diamond ring, its many facets catching the glow from the passing streetlamps. A giddy smile spread itself over Raoul's face as her remembered her reaction. While he had managed to keep his composure, Christine had not. After staring blankly at the engagement ring for a few seconds, she had thrown her arms around Raoul, laughing and crying in turns. When at last she had calmed down, Raoul held her by the shoulders facing him and, with mock seriousness, had asked, "So what is your answer mademoiselle? Will you take this star-struck fool to be your husband?"

Choking back another sob, Christine gazed teary-eyed into his. "Of course I will!" she had replied, but then her eyes grew wide in alarm. "But we must keep it secret! If word got out who knows what would happen. If _he_ finds out he'll-"

"All right, Christine. _All right!_" Raoul gave her arms a squeeze. "We'll keep it a secret. No one will know, not the managers, not Mdme. Giry, not Carlotta, not even the gossiping ballerinas, and especially not _him_. We'll be fine, you'll see. Besides, he hasn't been seen or heard from in months. For all we know he's gone for good. You haven't seen him, have you?"

Raoul had spoken reassuringly, but real worry hid behind his blue eyes. Christine did not reply, instead she dropped her gaze, hands plucking nervously at the seams of her gloves. Raoul frowned and took her hands in his own. "Did you see him?"

Christine, her eyes now closed tightly, shook her head, sending her brown locks bouncing in the dim light. "No," she whispered. Gripping his hands she looked into his eyes and repeated the word more fervently, as if to convince herself as well as Raoul. "No. No, nothing. Not one whisper in the dark."

The Vicomte had smiled warmly and hugged his new fiancé close. "Don't worry, Little Lotte, I'll take care of everything. We're together, and that's all that matters."

That had been days ago. Any misgivings Raoul might have felt were now overpowered by a nearly insuppressible glee. Not telling people he was engaged was easy enough; not showing it was becoming impossible. But here, alone is his bedroom, Raoul was safe from the scrutiny of the public eye. Crawling between the sheets, he let a wide, reckless grin spread across his handsome features. As the young noble reached to turn off the bedside lamp he declared to the room, "She said yes! Can you believe it? She chose me. Me! She cho-"

Raoul froze, the smile gone and a cold sweat breaking out all over him. There, at the foot of his bed, two smoldering points of light had emerged in the gloom. Propped up on an elbow, Raoul stared at the lights in an uncomprehending stupor. Slowly his shocked brain came back to life. "Why," he whispered with a nervous chuckle, "they look just like eyes."

_EYES?!_

Trembling, Raoul groped about for some matches and lit a candle. The eyes disappeared. He laughed nervously again. _It's just your imagination you fool, _he thought, _just a cat or some other creature. Christine's worrying has you seeing phantoms. _

Chiding himself for his paranoia, Raoul blew out the candle. The eyes reappeared. This time he bolted right out of the sheets, standing stock straight by the bed, knees and fists shaking. His _eyes glow in the dark. That's what she said. He's there, out on the balcony, watching me. Why? _

Mustering his courage, the Vicomte shouted, "Is that you, Erik? Man, genius, or ghost, is it you? Come out and face me like a man! I am not afraid!"

_That's a bald faced lie_, he thought.

With no movement from the eyes, not even a blink, Raoul slowly reached behind him and opened the top drawer of his bedside table. Inside laid his revolver. Closing his fingers around the familiar ivory grip, Raoul thought, _I only have one shot at this. It must be perfect._

Without warning, Raoul de Chagny whipped the pistol around, leveling it between and a little above the glowing eyes. _No more secrets, Phantom. It's time the world knew your face!_

* * *

The gunshot was like a crack of thunder inside Dracula's skull. Oh how he hated the sound! Hissing like a feral beast, the vampire crossed to the edge of the balcony and climbed deftly up the gutter spout lest he be discovered by that fool of a boy or his servants. It wasn't until he reached the roof that Dracula realized that he had, in fact, been hit by the Vicomte's bullet. There was a new tear in his coat and, upon inspection, in his flesh as well. Licking the blood from his fingers, Dracula peered over the edge of the roof to where Raoul and his staff were milling about on the balcony. His still ringing ears caught snippets of frantic conversation. Most notably was "eyes" and "blood." Dracula scowled at this. Indeed, the scent of his blood wafted up from the commotion bellow. _That pompous brat has spilled my blood! It is mine to give, mine alone!_

If not for his usefulness in distracting the Phantom, Dracula would have swooped down and felled the boy where he stood. Instead Dracula transformed into a bat and flitted away, content with the fact that he could easily find something else to vent his anger on. Besides, the taste of his own blood had whetted the vampire's apatite.

* * *

Morning arrived all too soon, and Dracula turned his steps towards his tomb. Animalistic urges sated, he was now able to think logically about the night's events. _That stupid blue blood! _he thought with contempt. _He has gone and engaged himself to Christine! I had had a mind to let him live because of his unwitting usefulness, but this cannot be allowed to come to fruition. I shall just have to kill him if he gets in my way; he certainly deserves it for shooting me. _

This brought a strange smile to the vampire's lips. _Ah, but he bought it, didn't he? He was so sure I was this Phantom that he tried to kill me! The boy may prove useful yet, why, he even supplied me with my rival's name: Erik!_

"Erik..."

Dracula tried the name, rolling it on his tongue like a taste of wine. It was a strange, simple yet distinct name. The ancient creature had never heard of it before. Odd, since he had been so many places.

By now Dracula had reached the entrance to the graveyard. Standing by his stone tomb was the dutiful Jaques, ever eager to serve his master. As he approached the diminutive man, the Prince of Darkness shrugged off his torn frock coat and handed it over. Seeing the crimson stain spread over the white fabric of Dracula's shirt, Jaques' eyes grew wide. "Master, are you hurt?"

Dracula puffed a breath out of his nose, sending faint tendrils of mist drifting on the frigid morning air. "It's of no consequence. Just have my coat repaired by this evening."

"Yes, master."

The vampire opened the gate to the tomb, but stopped halfway in. "Oh, and get me a rose," he added.

"A rose, master?"

"Yes, the blackest one you can find, and tie it with a red ribbon. Tomorrow I will be visiting a very special lady, and I wish to leave a proper gift."

Jaques nodded his understanding as Dracula shut and locked the gate. Draping the large coat over a shoulder, he set off down the street just as the first light broke over the treetops.

**A/N: Once again, I am sooo sorry for the wait. If anyone is still reading this, please review. I'd like to know where I stand audience wise after all this time. ,**


	9. Distractions

**A/N: You see, I really am trying to finish this! I'll update as much as I can. Seriously. ;) **

**Disclaimer: yadah yadah I own nothing yadah yadah except for the characters I create **

Ch. 9 Distractions

"I don't know Meg. Isn't it a little… much?"

"Oh Chrisy, Chrisy, Chrisy. Is there really such a thing?"

The two girls looked across Christine's flat at each other for a few seconds, Christine standing before her small vanity, Meg Giry seated cross-legged on top of the small bed. It wasn't long until the room was filled with laughter as the two friends came down with a terrible fit of giggles. Wiping a tear from her eye, Christine plopped down on the bed next to her friend, smoothing out the folds of her obviously expensive new evening gown. "But seriously Meg, look at it! I don't know how Raoul could have picked it, not that I'm ungrateful. It's just so…so… pink."

"Well, Christine, Raoul is a man, and with a man's rapier wit he has bought his woman a pink dress. Ten to one he'll be wearing blue or some very manly costume like a soldier's uniform. Besides, it is a masquerade party after all. Everyone is going to look silly."

"You're right, Meg, as usual," said Christine with a half gracious, half teasing smile. "It is a lovely gown, color or not. Did you find something to wear?"

The petite dancer plucked at an errant thread on the sleeve of her plain dress. "Oh, well, you know me. I'll just nag the costumers until they let me borrow something."

Christine chuckled, patting Meg's arm. "Just don't let Madame catch you!"

"Don't worry about her; she'll probably be right there with me!"

At this the two started laughing all over again. After catching her breath, Meg got up. "Speaking of mother, I better get on home. She hates for me to be out after dark, especially with all those bodies cropping up one a night ."

Putting on her coat, Meg turned towards the door when something on the bedside table twinkled invitingly. "Christine, what's this?" she asked, picking up what appeared to be a copper coin of foreign origin.

An unreadable expression flitted momentarily over the young soprano's features, quickly replaced by another of her amiable smiles. "Oh, it's nothing. Just something I found outside the opera last week. You know how many tourists we get."

"Oh yes. How could one forget?" Meg replied as she returned the strange coin. "Well, Chrissy, I'm off. See you at practice tomorrow?"

"Of course. Goodnight!"

With that the dancer slipped out the door, down the stairs, and into the quickly darkening Parisian dusk. Christine sighed in a weary sort of way and set about changing into her nightgown, sending nervous glances at the coin where it sat glinting dully in the lamplight. Pink, frilly evening dress safely stowed, she sat on her bed and turned the shiny metal over in her fingers. It was ordinary looking with a man's profile embossed on one side, an unfamiliar coat of arms on the other, but yet the thing seemed to shiver with a strange coldness that no amount of touch could dispel.

"Oh darn it all!" Christine suddenly exclaimed in a voice that was choked with frustration.

Gripping the cold coin in her small fist, she wrenched open the top drawer of the bedside table and threw the copper in where it hit the bottom with a thud, its frozen face staring blankly back up at her. Christine stared back for a moment before her large, innocent looking eyes began to sweep the contents of the drawer. The copper coin was not alone in its wood confines; there was also a long black feather, a wolf's head amulet carved from wood, an envelope filled with a fine, loamy soil, and two black silk handkerchiefs. The sight sent a slight shiver down the singer's spine for all of the items, including the coin, had mysteriously appeared on her bedside table, not found and collected as Meg had heard. The only exceptions were the two handkerchiefs. They had appeared, not on the table, but on her wrist. Christine shivered anew at the memory. The two pieces of silk had been the first two items to appear, and both had covered a short but deep cut on her left wrist. How the wound came to be there was a total mystery, but over the last few months it had refused to heal completely. Every time it looked like the cut was about to knit itself together, the next morning it would be wide open again, and another object would be laying innocently on the table.

Christine held the marred wrist to the lamplight. There stood the cut, ragged and red with yet more scabbing around the edges. Somehow she knew that her tormentor would be back tonight. She had long ago thrown out the idea that it was Erik, for, though Christine knew well enough his capacity for violence, she was positive that he would never harm a hair on her head. No, this was something much darker, a spirit as malevolent as the angel of music was good. This thought brought a strangled, almost cackle-like laugh from the singer's well trained throat. _Angel of music indeed! _she thought, running her fingers through her hair so roughly that a few strands parted forever from their neighbors. _He's only a man, no better or worse than I. Well… Maybe a little bit worse._

The moment of hysteria was gone as quickly as it came. Intent of at least attempting to rest, Christine shut the drawer, extinguished the lamp, and swung her legs onto the bed, drawing the covers up close around her. Eyes shut tight against the gloom she willed sleep to take her away to a place where she would be free of this constant worry and anxiety, a place where her father played violin, and she sang along without a care in the world. _Oh angel, how I wish you were really real._

* * *

Strong, purposeful steps carried Count Dracula from the outskirts towards the city proper. He was in a much better mood compared to the previous evening, what with the chill night air nipping at his face and a soft blanket of snow crunching beneath his shoes. It was the perfect winter night, and the vampire had always preferred winter to any other season. The long nights and cool temperatures were perfect for a creature such as himself. Unfortunately something as perfect as that came with a price: prey was harder to find. Like most creatures, most of the human population of Paris did not go out much on these cold winter evenings. This frustrated Dracula to no end. _This is ridiculous,_ he thought, passing under the flickering light of a streetlamp. _ Even with the cold, there's always at least a few of the unfortunate creatures huddling in an alley. Where could they all be? There is no way I will visit Christine with an empty stomach. _

It was not long until his questions were answered. With a pace quickened by annoyance, the Count rounded a corner and nearly collided with a patrolling police officer. Only quick reflexes on both sides prevented a rather embarrassing situation. "Pardon me, monsieur," said the officer with a slight catch to his breath from the surprise, "but what are you doing out of doors this late? Haven't you heard? There is a curfew in the outer districts. No one is allowed on the streets after dark."

Dracula put on a pleasant, slightly confused smile, but inside his blood had started to boil. "Excuse my ignorance, officer, but I am a newcomer to this city and am unavare of your laws. Vhat is the reason for the curfew?" he drawled, allowing his heavy accent to show.

The officer's face loosened a trifle, but he kept his serious police demeanor. "Well, since you're new you wouldn't know, but over the past six or seven months there's been a rash of unexplained deaths in the city, especially out here. We think it could be a serial killer, but…"

"But vhat?" prodded the vampire. He wanted to know what his new prey made of his nightly pursuits.

"It's just… The victims don't even _look_ like victims until you examine them. They just look asleep. I should know; I've found a few of them myself."

At this, the man shivered in a way that has nothing to do with the weather. "All their blood is drained, every drop, with no wounds except for a small bite to the neck, and there is no blood at the scene. Now, I'm not a superstitious man, monsieur, but I cannot see a human being doing what was done to those people."

"Oh, you are quite right about that, officer."

"Excuse me?"

"That vas no man who killed those people, who drank their flesh dry."

A kind of predatory gleam shone in Dracula's eyes; he took a step towards the police officer. The officer backed away, laying a hand on his gun holster. "But… How do y- Stay back," he stammered out as the side of a building cut off his retreat.

The beast now stood only inches from the man, instilling fear with his very presence. "Aren't you curious," whispered Dracula in his strange, entrancing voice as he pressed a hand into the wall on either side of the now terrified man, "who has defied you for months, picking off your precious citizens one by one?"

The man was now visibly shaking. "Y-y-yes…"

Leaning down so that his unsheathed fangs hovered close to the patrolman's ear, the Prince of Darkness hissed a single word.

"ME!"

* * *

_Wait, what was that?_

A couple streets away a young patrolman stopped and turned. _Did I just hear a scream?_ _No, no, couldn't be. No one's outside. It was the wind. Yes, that's it. _

He took a few steps before another more disturbing thought imposed itself on his mind. _But that sounded like it came from Pierre's block. He would whistle if he was in trouble, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he?_

_Not if he was fighting for his life. _

"Mon Dieu…" he whispered before turning on his heel once again, making for the next block as fast as he could.

The sight that greeted him was one that would be etched into his memory for the rest of his life. There on the corner a dark shape sat hunched over a body wearing boots just like the ones that clad his feet. It was another patrolman. _Pierre…_

The young officer stood rooted to the cobblestones, eyes glued to those familiar boots that twitched spastically from the mysterious offender's fatal ministrations. Finally his wits overcame their shock, and he drew his revolver. "Stand and turn around," he yelled with as much authority as he could grasp. "No sudden moves; I have a pistol aimed."

The dark figure froze and stood erect. The young man's eyes grew wider and wider as the man's stature became apparent. _Merde, what have I gotten myself into? _he thought, fighting down his qualms. "Now t-turn around; hands where I can see them. Slowly, remember, I have a pistol aimed at your heart."

"Do you, now?" said a bone chilling voice.

The patrolman gulped. "Y-yes. Now please turn around."

"Vell, since you said 'please.'"

Slowly, as commanded, the man turned to face the young police officer. What color the patrolman had left in the frigid air drained away as his face came into view, for it was twisted into what can only be described as a feral grin: all blood and fangs with two gleaming eyes hidden beneath furrowed brows. "Vhat's wrong?" asked the creature, its accent even further garbled by overlarge teeth. "You look like you have seen a ghost."

The officer stood in frozen panic, gun still aimed, albeit a little shaky. "Ah, but you do not need vorry, little one. I am real enough, and fully satisfied thanks to your friend there. Vould you like me to prove it to you?"

Before the patrolman could even begin to think about the ramifications of that question, the black cloaked creature was upon him, his gun in one hand, and his neck in the other. "You see," said the beast as it took its claw-like thumbnail and drew a deep cut into his throat, "I draw your blood, but do not feed. Vhy would I vhen I am not thirsty?"

With a distinct, almost bark-like laugh, the young man was unceremoniously dropped to the pavement along with his weapon. Choking, he grabbed the pistol and looked up just in time to see the other stand after retrieving a fallen object. It was a rose with petals so dark red that they almost seemed black tied with a blood red ribbon. The patrolman stared at it as the creature brushed snow from the delicate leaves. "I suggest," said the entity which was quickly looking and sounding more like a man, "that you stay where you are and not follow. I am far less forgiving when I am the one being stalked. Trust me; you are testing my patience by simply holding that weapon. Lucky for you, monsieur police, I have an engagement tonight that must be kept, and I would rather not arrive any messier than I already am. Good night."

The young officer watched the mysterious man pace quickly down the street until he turned a corner and disappeared. Gritting his teeth with pain, he dragged himself into a sitting position and gave a strong blow to his whistle. Soon another responded, and then another, and then another until every patrolman in the district had heard the call. As he continued to call, the young man thought _Don't you worry. We will meet again. For Pierre's sake we will meet again, and next time, I'll be ready. Just you wait._

**A/N: Yep, I added a new character: the unnamed young police officer. What role will he play? You'll just have to wait and see! Please review! **


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